


picking my head up, getting nowhere

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Cutting, Depression, M/M, Pining, Read at Your Own Risk, Self-Harm, Self-Mutilation, Slightly graphic depictions of injuries, Slow Burn, angst with happy ending, slight homophobia, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 08:13:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7500789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oikawa only ever gives the bad and only ever takes the good, and he will never be able to forgive himself for it. (One-shot) Trigger warning for self-harm, depression and negativity—please read at your own risk. [Iwaoi]</p>
            </blockquote>





	picking my head up, getting nowhere

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning; cutting and depression, self-harm, negativity, please read at your own risk. 
> 
> I have a friend who used to have depression, and they were talking to me about it, and I had a spark of inspiration. I don't mean to offend anyone with this story, I'm just trying to write it down and depict it as best as I can. 
> 
> And of course, knowing me, it has to involve Iwaoi.

**[Trigger warning; cutting and depression, self-harm, negativity, please read at your own risk.]**

Oikawa isn’t sure when it starts. _Oh no,_ is the only thing he can think as he gazes through a blurry haze at the blood beading and dotting his arm, seeping through the newly made crack. The shard of glass in his hand glistens in the dimming light of the sun, halfway under the horizon. The sky is a nebulous red, eeringly similar to the color of blood that drips from his arm and stains the bathroom carpet. He sinks to his knees, a dry sob echoing in the back of his throat. _Oh no._

**

Somewhere along his journey at Aoba Johsai, Oikawa’s been sinking in too deep with volleyball. Now it’s carved into his bones, jeering, heckling at him to get better, telling him he’s not worth it, telling him he’ll never beat Shiratorizawa, never be better than Kageyama Tobio. There’s no escape from the insecurities whispering in his head. If he were stronger, then he wouldn’t have listened, but it talks to him, relentless. It starts early, but Oikawa promises himself that he’s only in an inch deep, that he can still back out if he needs to. It gets progressively worse, and somehow, he still misses all the _danger!_ signs that tell him he needs to go back until he’s in knee-deep, and it’s too late to turn back.

Oikawa doesn’t understand what he’s doing wrong, how this could happen to him, he doesn’t get why he’s suddenly so sad and forlorn and just plain _unhappy_. People tell him he’s ungrateful, that he has everything—good looks, grades, skill—and he feels like he should be grateful. But another night in his bathroom with a scintillating crimson razor in his hand tells him differently. He’s not even knee-deep at this point, his heads already gone underwater.

**

It’s nearly been a month, and by now, Oikawa can’t even stretch without the scars hurting. His back hurts whenever he bends over, but he pushes himself through it until everything is red and he can’t breathe— _he can’t breathe_.

He knows he’s been acting differently, and it’s starting to become a routine, he keeps rubbing alcohol in his school bag, a razor in his locker, a knife in the locker of the club room, he makes frequent trips to the nurse to loot for bandages. They’re _everywhere_. He can’t tear himself away, and now everything’s a trigger. He’s sad and frustrated and angry at himself for being so pathetic and weak for giving in every time because it hurts too much if he doesn’t. Sometimes he laughs to himself because of how ironic it is, he gets rid of the pain with even more pain, and it shouldn’t make sense, but in a twisted way it just does.

There are close calls, Matsukawa asks him about it, Hanamaki stares at him more closely nowadays. Once, his jersey sleeve went up far enough to see the edge of a crusting scab. He asks for a long sleeved jersey, and his coach gives him a strange look, but he’s fitted and it’s delivered. It gives him more leeway, and he hates himself for how it makes him feel better.

Iwaizumi stays with him the entire time, confused at why Oikawa suddenly wants something different. Oikawa shrugs and tries to smile, but it stretches his cheeks too much and he realizes, horrified, that he hasn’t smiled in so long that it hurts to even try. Iwaizumi doesn’t answer, just furrows his brow and clips Oikawa gently on the shoulder, right over a newly made cut. The wound opens when he gets home, and it takes days to heal. He has to wear black all week because the blood would stain any of his other shirts.

**

Iwaizumi seems to pick up on how down Oikawa has been lately.

Oikawa doesn’t know if he should be nervous about the extra attention, but he can’t help but be grateful when Iwaizumi refrains from punching him in the shoulder or giving him another god awful nosebleed.

He also seems to be a lot quieter, and Oikawa catches him staring when he turns to ask a question or make a remark about how the game is going.

Iwaizumi asks him about it while the two are watching Karasuno play on tape.

_“Are you okay?”_

Oikawa must not be making as many snarky remarks as usual, and Iwaizumi must find the quiet unsettling.

Oikawa smiles from behind his wall of blankets and the fluff of his sweater. _“Are you my mom Iwa-chan?”_

His scabs itch, and if Iwaizumi notices him tugging at the hems of his sleeves, he doesn’t point it out.

**

Oikawa knows it’s been getting out of hand, his arms are littered with scars, and he’s running out of space. He doesn’t have anywhere else to go to, his legs show too much skin, and he can’t ask for the kneepads the ace from Fukurodani wears, he’s already close to stepping over the line, and he knows how observant Iwaizumi can be when he needs to.

He’s addicted in a cruel, masochistic way, but the pain doesn’t even feel good, it just stops him from feeling bad, thinking that it’s what he deserves.

He’s in the bathroom one day, hunched over the sink, sure that everyone’s gone home when the door creaks open and the razor drops into the basin with a heavy clink. He fumbles as the door clicks shut and makes one last desperate attempt to hide his arms, but it’s too late.

Iwaizumi stares at him, face contorted into horror, eyes flickering back and forth between the bloody razor, Oikawa’s tear streaked face and the scars and cuts that litter Oikawa’s arms, some new, and some old.

For a second, the two stand there, frozen before Iwaizumi starts forward, Oikawa backing up with him in time. “I-Iwa-chan, I-I can-”

Iwaizumi cuts him off. “Explain? What?” His words hurt worse than the throbbing resonating from his arms. “Why-what-” Oikawa’s heart sinks into his chest when Iwaizumi buries his hands into his hair and shakes his head, lost for words.

He tries to press back the burning in the back of his throat as his eyes well up. “Iwa-chan, I’m sorry, please-” He’s cut off again.

Iwaizumi’s eyes burn into him, searing his chest open and burning his heart. “Damn it Oikawa, why-” His voice breaks off, angry, accusing. The dry-sob in Oikawa’s throat finds its way out, and Iwaizumi’s eyes turn from anger to confusion. “How long has this been going on?” His voice demands truth.

Oikawa starts. “Ju-just recent-”

“Don’t lie.” Iwaizumi snaps.

Then, much to his chagrin, Oikawa starts crying. He’s always been an ugly crier, and now he can’t stop. “I’m sorry-”

“ _How long_.” Iwaizumi seethes, voice gravelly and so insistent that Oikawa flinches. His hand wraps around Oikawa’s wrist, uncertain, trying not to hurt him and all it does is make him cry harder.

“A-a month? I don’t know, anymore.” His words stutter and he hiccups, trying to cover his face even though his best friend won’t let him. He hears the quiet _damn it_ in between his whimpers before Iwaizumi wraps his arms around him and presses his face into his shoulder. It gets worse when a hand brushes through his hair, messy and grimy from days of negligence.

He doesn’t know what to do anymore, and when Oikawa finally stops crying, the two stand in silence for a long, long time.

**

The days after are the worst. Iwaizumi is always there, after school, in between classes, he even makes sure to follow Oikawa to the bathroom. Even when Oikawa promises he’ll be quick and won’t do anything. Still, nothing stops Iwaizumi from staying with him.

At first, he had asked about telling Oikawa’s parents, but Oikawa had begged and begged and _begged_ until Iwaizumi gave in. Spouting excuses that sounded pathetic even to him. _It’ll break their hearts, they have enough to worry about._

He watches him eat, makes sure someone’s always watching him, and he always checks for new scars. Every day in the morning, he forces Oikawa to roll up his sleeves and makes sure there isn’t anything new. Oikawa’s too scared to disappoint his best friend, and it feels like he’s drowning, but he keeps himself away, even if his mind is always making up ideas to evade Iwaizumi’s watchful eyes.

Still, his best friend seems to understand that Oikawa can’t control what he’s feeling. And he’s gentler, kinder, more understanding after seeing Oikawa that day in the bathroom. Honestly, he’s surprised that Iwaizumi hasn’t told anyone yet.

Oikawa doesn’t know why Iwaizumi stays, and he’s started contemplating making a list of things that he doesn’t understand, it seems there’s been a lot of things recently. He’s always been there, and he wonders what he would’ve done if they hadn’t met when they were little.

In a way, Iwaizumi helps him heal, with his tentative hands and soft words whenever Oikawa’s having another episode, it makes him wonder why he didn’t try to find help in the first place. But in the end, everything’s a trigger, and after a long, weary week, Oikawa finds himself in his bathroom again, heavy bags under his eyes because his tears have washed the concealer away, hands shaking as his fingers wrap around the knife’s handle.

He can hear Iwaizumi’s voice in the back of his head, telling him; _“I’m always here if you need me, okay?”_ And he knows that he shouldn’t do this, but the relief is just _there_ when he breaks the skin of his arm. He falls to the floor and buries his face in the arms of his sweater, the faint scent of blood wafting in the air as the sound of gushing water echoes in the bathtub. The water’s a soft pink as it rushes down the gutter.

**

Oikawa rushes to school the next day, eager to get there before Iwaizumi can catch him and do his daily inspecting. It’s one of those days where the team doesn’t have morning practice, and oddly, Oikawa just isn’t in the mood to practice early. He manages to get through the school gates and barrels to class, 5 minutes early, praying that Iwaizumi won’t make it in time.

His phone buzzes;

From: Iwa-chan♥

[where r u?]

Oikawa sucks in a breath and shivers as he puts his phone back down in an effort to ignore the text. Iwaizumi must understand that Oikawa’s ignoring him because his phone buzzes again.

 _Incoming call from:_ ‘Iwa-chan♥’

Oikawa flinches and waits for his phone to stop ringing before burying it back in his bag and conking his head on the desk.

 _Missed call from:_ ‘Iwa-chan♥’

There’s another message not seconds after.

From: Iwa-chan♥

[are you okay?]

He knows that Iwaizumi’s figured it out by now, and the roaring guilt in his gut sends him to the bathroom again, 3 minutes before class starts.

**

Iwaizumi catches him right before he’s about to leave, intent on skipping practice, no matter how important it is to him. The former wrenches his arm back, nails digging into the flesh, relentless even when Oikawa cries out and whimpers.

“What. The fuck.” Iwaizumi growls, forcing Oikawa to look at him. Oikawa whimpers again, gently tugging his arm back to no avail.

The ace doesn’t wait, he pulls Oikawa’s sleeves up and purses his lips, knuckles white around Oikawa’s wrist as he scowls at the red leaking from the open cut. “Why would you-”

Oikawa’s arm starts to throb, his vision blurs out of focus and he makes one last attempt to get Iwaizumi’s hand off him. “Iwa-chan, please, it hurts.”

Iwaizumi must realize that he’s crossed the line, because he recoils like he’s been slapped and drops his hand to his side. “I-” He starts saying something, but decides against it. For a second, he looks so tired and done that Oikawa fears he might leave, and he tries to say something, but his lips are glued together by the trail of liquid salt that seal the crevice of his mouth together.

Finally, Iwaizumi takes Oikawa’s hand and walks, dragging the clueless setter behind, ignoring his protests and remonstrations and Oikawa’s heart stutters to a stop when he sees where they’re headed. Iwaizumi swings the bathroom door open and pulls the latter in with him before opening his hand and imploring; “Give me the razor.”

Oikawa starts shaking, but Iwaizumi won’t let him say no. When his best friend takes it, he can finally speak again. “Iwa-chan, please, I-”

Iwaizumi shuts him up when he presses the razor into Oikawa’s sweating palm. His dark eyes are almost black in the bathroom light as he starts rolling up his sleeves. There’s a moment where Oikawa doesn’t understand what’s happening before Iwaizumi helps curl Oikawa’s hand over the razor-handle and presses it to his own, dark-tan skin.

Oikawa lets out a tiny gasp.

“Oikawa.” He can’t look away, Iwaizumi’s eyes burn into his, melding them together as a dry sob rocks Oikawa’s throat. “If you’re going to cut yourself, then take the knife, and cut me just as much.”

Confusion swarms every nook and corner of his head, and he manages to choke out a barely grammatically correct sentence; “What? I couldn’t do that-I could never-” His breathing is erratic, and when he looks into the dark pools of Iwaizumi’s eyes, he finally understands what he means.

There’s a horrible silence as the warming metal in Oikawa’s hand vibrates against Iwaizumi’s pulse, and with torpid, trembling fingers, he pulls his hand away as he finally realizes the answer to why his best friend has never left.

**

He tries to stop. He tells his parents, and his mother cries more than he’s seen her cry ever since he was a child. He doesn’t want to go to therapy, he doesn’t want to tell a stranger all of his twisted feelings. His parents don’t seem to understand, but they don’t push and he’s grateful for the support he’s been given. Finals week is coming soon, and after that it’ll be graduation. Right now, Oikawa doesn’t even want to deal with the present, so he barely even thinks about the future.

Sometimes he finds himself just numb, caught in the cold, feeling nothing at all. Other times he finds himself crying over nothing. The eyes are everywhere, and they seem to see right through his sleeves, straight through the thin fabric that should be thicker, and all the anxiety just reminds him that he’s alone.

But Iwaizumi’s there, with soft hands, and gruff voice gentle for once. He comforts him, hugs him when he cries, spends weekends with him to make sure he doesn’t feel alone, doesn’t try to hurt himself again, Oikawa feels like utter shit for taking advantage of him like that.

There’s so much self-loathing inside of him that it hurts and it’s so overwhelming that he finds himself screaming at his mother, father, sister, Iwaizumi, a knife clattering to the floor between them, voice hoarse from screaming and eyes swollen, cheeks raw from the friction of rubbing his tears away.

It’s exhausting to even think about being exhausted.

But there are also better days, where he finds himself smiling, curled up on the couch with his best friend sitting on the floor as they critique every horrible movie possible. Sometimes he even feels light and _happy,_ and it’s with horrible, relieving fear that he comes to the conclusion that he’s _in love_ with Iwaizumi Hajime.

He’s in love with his best friend, who’s a _boy_.

Maybe the world is laughing at him, how naïve he is and how hopelessly in love he is, because he thinks it couldn’t be crueler. But he’s in too deep already, and it’s just like depression all over again, except this time, there are no warning signs that tell him it isn’t too late to come back. Love is a one-way road, and Oikawa’s the fool who’s tripped and fell past the opening gates without as much as one pre-caution.

He finds himself staring at Iwaizumi without even thinking, mind wandering whenever he doesn’t have anything else to think about and his head is clear enough to think—sometimes he gets headaches that send him to bed for hours—and saying his best friends name like it’s holy. (Alone, of course)

Iwaizumi gives him a weird look one day when Oikawa leaves his hand on his shoulder too long.

_“Are you okay?”_

Oikawa pulls his hand away without flinching and smiles as brightly as he can.

_“Of course I am.”_

He didn’t think it was possible to hate himself anymore, it seems he’s just proved himself wrong.

**

Oikawa’s skin has started to clear—the scars are still there, but now they don’t stand out as much. He should feel better, but instead it just feels like he’s drowning. He’s drowning in feeling useless and frustrated and guilt. But most of all, he’s drowned in the feeling of being hopelessly in love with his best friend, who is just there, who is painfully close but still slips from Oikawa’s grasp like sand between the gaps in his fingers.

Oikawa just wants, and wants and _wants._ He wants to be the best, he wants the world, he wants—and he notices something horrible—but never gives.

Maybe the reason he’s turned into a shell of his former self is because he takes and expects and fears of not getting what he wants. Maybe it’s because he’s just so damn _selfish_.

He can start changing himself by trying to be better. He even thinks that it could solve everything. Give up Iwaizumi, work harder, don’t want so much—he doesn’t realize how hard it can be before he starts trying.

He walks down the hallway with Hanamaki, benighted of his condition, as Iwaizumi rounds the corner and Oikawa feels a little flutter. He raises his hand and starts to call out and…the words die in his throat.

There’s a girl talking to his best friend, but it isn’t _just_ talking, she’s standing too close, her hand is on his shoulder, right below the crease of his uniform, and it doesn’t look like she’s moving it anytime soon.

Oikawa’s blood freezes, and suddenly his scabs start to itch horribly. His pulse throbs and he’s aware of Hanamaki’s hand on his arm, asking him if he’s alright. Oikawa loves the pinkette, but sometimes Hanamaki is too observant for his own good. His eyes train down the hallway and there’s a flash of realization when he sees what Oikawa’s looking at. The sympathetic look in his eyes hurts more than Oikawa can handle.

“Makki, I forgot something in the classroom.” His voice is laced with artifice. He knows that the other can see through his lies just as easily as a fish can breathe underwater, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t even wait for the response before he’s left and turned around the corridor, the knife in his locker twittering in the back of his head.

The bathroom mirror is dirty and clouded with dry water. Oikawa’s shaking as he reaches for the knife, thankful he didn’t get rid of it earlier as he pushes the stall door open and locks it shut. His breath is spasmodic, and there’s a painful, sharp feeling in his gut as he’s about to make the cut.

He doesn’t make it that far before the bathroom door slams open and heavy footsteps tromp in. “Oikawa!”

Oikawa flinches, his aim off, jerking to the side. He would know that voice anywhere. He doesn’t even look up as the skin breaks underneath the edge, he’s cut off again when a hand bangs on his stall door.

“Oikawa dammit I know you’re in there, I can see your damn feet. Let me in!” Iwaizumi sticks his familiar foot underneath the gap of the stall, swiping at Oikawa’s ankles to no prevail.

Oikawa steps back and stumbles over the toilet seat and the blade slips from his grasp, and for a few good seconds, all he does is pant and squeeze his eyes shut. His eyes snap open when a warm calloused hand grabs his ankle and Oikawa jerks, letting out a little un-dignifying shriek.

Iwaizumi’s scowl is so deep it etches wrinkles into his cheeks, but what’s even worse is that half his torso is underneath the gap under the stall and he’s literally crawling his way in. He makes a grab for the knife on the floor and wraps a hand around it before Oikawa can stop him, then he’s drawing himself upright and Oikawa moves to say something, give an excuse, bail himself out—anything. But Iwaizumi just buries his face in his shoulder and hugs him tight, tight, tight.

He whispers fast and frantic incoherent words that Oikawa doesn’t understand, but he finds himself crying anyways. When Iwaizumi pulls back, the look on his face stuns him into stupor.

“What was the trigger? _Are you okay?_ ” His hands don’t leave Oikawa’s shoulders, and his eyes are frenetic as he searches for a reaction.

Oikawa is silent before he bites his lip and starts babbling. Maybe everything that’s happened so far has broken the dam that he’s so carefully constructed, or maybe it’s just the heartbroken look on his face that makes him give in. He talks for what seems like hours, about how he’s tired and frustrated and just so goddamn _sad_. How sometimes he feels like he can’t breathe and he doesn’t want to be selfish and he wants to be number one just once. How he wants to win and be something just once in his life but so many things are in his way and he doesn’t know if he can do it.

He doesn’t mention the terrible inferiority complex he felt when he saw Iwaizumi talking to that second year girl. Iwaizumi doesn’t ask any questions—just listens to Oikawa’s lamenting and doesn’t let go of him.

They stay long after Oikawa’s finished talking, and even longer after the bell rings.

**

Graduation comes and goes, quick, to the point and then the two are poring over which universities to go to and which ones are closest to home. Iwaizumi’s grades are good enough to go medical, and so are Oikawa’s, but they both know that Oikawa will choose whichever school that can bring him to nationals. In the end, Oikawa doesn’t want to leave his best friend, his horrible, drowning love that keeps dragging him down.

He gets volleyball scholarships, and at last, he chooses a school that’s very close to his best friends, one where the two will be able to see each other every week, if not every day.

There’s a terrible feeling of relief when he finds out that he can stay with his best friend, at least until the end.

Iwaizumi offers the idea that they’ve both been thinking, rooming together. Oikawa suspects it’s partially because of his parents and how they need someone to watch over him, but it doesn’t stop his chest from swelling and a genuine smile from flitting across his face when Iwaizumi asks.

 _“You would miss me too much if we didn’t.”_ He teases, happy enough to act and joke like his former self. But something in his gut tells him that it’s the exact opposite, that he couldn’t possibly keep on going without Iwaizumi there to drag him along, to pick up the debris he leaves in his wake. They spend a week looking for an apartment that the both of them can share, one that appeals to the both of them, before they settle on one that’s closer to Oikawa’s school than it is to Iwaizumi’s.

He knows that Iwaizumi chose it so Oikawa wouldn’t have to work so hard. And Oikawa feels nauseous after they choose because he can tell that Iwaizumi doesn’t like the flat as much as Oikawa does, with the way his eyes narrow when they visit and make the deal.

School doesn’t start until a few more weeks, so they spend the time talking, loitering around and wasting the days away together. For some time, Oikawa forgets about the knife sitting in his bathroom back at home and the blood-stained towels deposited in the trash.

For some time, all he feels is peace.

**

He curses himself for wondering so much, for asking the question that’s been nagging at the back of his head for so long.

“Do you want a girlfriend Iwa-chan?” He asks one day, the question thick and heavy on his tongue.

Iwaizumi freezes before craning his neck to look questioningly at Oikawa. “Why’re you asking a stupid question like that Shittykawa?” He lets out a little huff that Oikawa wants to wrap up in his heart and keep forever, before answering the question for real. “Not really. I mean, I have to take care of you, and I don’t really have much time.”

Oikawa lets loose a breath that he’s been subconsciously holding, knowing how childish he’s being. “Really? Not even if they were really pretty and caring and liked you back?” He presses. He knows that he doesn’t want to hear the answer, but he’s also stupid enough to ask.

Iwaizumi growls. “Why do you care so much? I wouldn’t, I told you, I don’t have time.”

Oikawa can’t keep the smile off his face, humming to himself happily before rolling over on the couch he’s lounging on. “Promise Iwa-chan?” He regrets the words instantly, realizing how possessive it must seem, but it’s already been done.

Iwaizumi laughs and flicks Oikawa’s head from his spot on the floor, because he generously let’s Oikawa hog the entire couch. “You’re so stupid. I couldn’t even if I wanted to, I have to take care of you.”

He must notice that Oikawa suddenly isn’t smiling anymore, because he straightens a little.

_I have to take care of you._

The words seem so innocent, so small and unimportant, but it sends all types of alarm bells ringing in Oikawa’s head. It sounds tired, as if Oikawa has become a burden that’s keeping him back. The pit of his stomach drops and his face tightens.

Iwaizumi immediately tries to make amends, nudging Oikawa’s shoulder and letting out a nervous laugh. “Come on, it’s okay.” Then after a short period of silence. “I don’t mind taking care of you anyways.” He murmurs. His voice small, almost affectionate, Oikawa thinks he might even see the traces of a blush.

Oikawa finds himself falling even deeper into love, the back of his head reprimanding him for how bipolar he is as his cheeks warm and a smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

**

Oikawa gets better, at least, he thinks he does. He hasn’t cut for around 3 weeks, and although he does have days that tempt him, he manages to reign it in.

Iwaizumi praises him, not outright, but he knows when he’s done something right. There are examples where Iwaizumi must feel proud on certain days, because he finds the only slightly older boy waiting for him outside of his new school’s gym doors after volleyball practice, a bag full of milk bread in his hand. Or sometimes when he treats Oikawa out or gets movie tickets to the new movie that Oikawa’s been itching to watch. He’s always gentle about the subject, and he’s never told anyone else.

They fall into rhythm, and Oikawa notices when Iwaizumi no longer checks for scars as much as he used to.

Oikawa finds himself thinking that he doesn’t deserve any of it. But this a type of selfish that he doesn’t want to let go. This is a type of selfish that he rarely ever gets.

This time, Iwaizumi’s careful words and light touches are all his and nobody else’s, this time he can have him all to himself.

Oikawa is selfish, selfish, _selfish_ , and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**

There’s a girl.

Well, actually, there’s been a girl for some time, a long time in fact. Oikawa just chose to ignore her because she didn’t seem important. But somewhere along the start of the year and near end of the halfway mark, she’s been appearing more than the setter would like her to be.

She’s always there when he visits Iwaizumi’s school whenever he has to stay late, always flitting around in Oikawa’s peripheral vision. She greets him sometimes, but in the end, she’s only there for Iwaizumi. She blushes when he smiles at her—no matter how small or polite, she talks to him, smiles whenever he responds, she’s also disgustingly kind to Oikawa—but only when Iwaizumi is around.

Oikawa knows before Iwaizumi that the girl is in love—smitten, really. Her eyes scintillate whenever Iwaizumi talks to her or smiles. Of course his best friend is dense enough to ignore the fact and friend zone her horribly, but even that doesn’t chase her off. She stays, and she’s got more tenure than Oikawa wants to hand it to her for.

She’s not very tall, or pretty for that matter. But she’s kind and quiet, nice with big doe eyes that are the same shade as Oikawa’s. She could be cute, and over it all, she’s overly generous. _Too_ generous for Oikawa’s liking.

She’s the complete opposite of Oikawa personality wise, she’s giving, caring, not manipulative, and underneath it all, she isn’t selfish like Oikawa is. She has that ethereal air about her that makes Oikawa’s stomach churn whenever Iwaizumi laughs at something she says.

 _I’m better than you._ Her eyes say, and Oikawa hates her for it because it’s true.

He has to stop himself from thinking that Iwaizumi’s smile is only for him to see, and once or twice he thinks that Iwaizumi might’ve caught him scowling at her.

He asks about her one day, when the two are walking home together and Oikawa has been thoroughly wrung out from volleyball practice.

“Do you like her?”

Iwaizumi flinches, much to Oikawa’s chagrin, before puffing out his lips and shaking his head. “Who?”

Oikawa licks his lips, even if it isn’t that cold yet—it’s only just the mid-point of fall—and nods. “Mei, the cute little one that follows you around everywhere?”

Iwaizumi doesn’t blush, doesn’t even really react for that matter before shaking his head. “I mean, she’s nice, and I do like her a little, but I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of relationship yet.”

Oikawa pushes down the awful feeling of relief before laughing. “Iwa-chan’s so shy! You’ll never get a girlfriend at this rate.”

They bicker profusely the entire way home, and Oikawa doesn’t miss it when Iwaizumi brushes his hand against his, soft, light, and almost promising.

**

Oikawa hasn’t gotten better.

Another night in the back of their dorm tells him that. Iwaizumi is out, late classes that he needs to make up and, well—the razor just sings.

It starts as a humming in the back of head, then it starts getting progressively worse until he can’t think and everything is drowned in the thundering of his heartbeat. Oikawa doesn’t know what the trigger is, but suddenly he’s panicking and scrambling from his seat and clawing at the bathroom door. Everything shakes in his peripheral vision and his first instinct is to call out.

“Iwa-cha-” He’s cut off when his ribcage slams into the side of the small coffee table and he lets out a stuttering gasp as he trips over his feet and slams into the bathroom door. His vision is shaking and he can’t breathe and everything starts to spin.

Somewhere in the chaos his brain registers that he should call Iwaizumi, but the thought is pushed back when Oikawa suddenly has his hand wrapped around a razor handle and the bedlam dulls a little.

_Iwa-chan would be so disappointed._

Oikawa falters, and he hates himself so much for thinking the next thought.

_He can’t be disappointed if he doesn’t know._

His fingers are cold as they press up against his thighs. The blood counteracts the cold and with a dry sob and sporadic heartbeat, Oikawa cries as he realizes that he’s reverted back to his old ways.

But the pain in his heart hurts so much more than the new cuts littering the insides of his thighs.

Iwaizumi gets home after Oikawa has calmed down enough to look presentable, but it doesn’t stop him from arching an eyebrow and asking him if he’s alright.

Oikawa smiles, a slight twitch of his lip and teases him. “Iwa-chan worries too much.”

Iwaizumi looks around, and Oikawa’s heart stops when he remembers that he forgot to turn the bathroom light off. For a second, he thinks he’s been found out, but Iwaizumi just sighs and flicks him on the forehead. “Don’t leave the lights on for so long, you’re paying for the electricity bill if you do.” His scowl etches a dimple into his left cheek and Oikawa feels so damn _guilty_ about what he’s done, but he can’t stop it, and really there’s no harm done if his best friend doesn’t find out.

**

Another two weeks pass without incident, and for once, Oikawa is glad that Iwaizumi isn’t playing volleyball with him anymore, it’d be far too suspicious if he started changing alone after practice. The rest of his team doesn’t notice, and nobody asks.

Oikawa hasn’t had any urges since his panic attack—as he came to know it as—and he’s in a slightly better mood today. He had a decent night of sleep, and he hasn’t seen or heard of Mei in quite a while. The bags under his eyes have subsided, and he even finds himself humming a bit to himself.

Iwaizumi is waiting after practice for him, a scarf wrapped around his neck, covering his nose because it’s been getting colder and November is nearing. He seems to pick up on Oikawa’s feathery air and doesn’t comment on it, just walks in silence as the two start to head home.

After a bit, he speaks. “Hey Oikawa,” His voice is quiet, careful—just like how it used to back when they were little and Oikawa had scraped his knee or hit his head—gentle as if he were talking to something fragile.

Oikawa sucks in a breath, already thinking _why today_ because he doesn’t want to think about anything sensitive or compassionate, he’s tired of feeling so much. His humming ceases and his stomach drops a little.

Iwaizumi quickly continues, trying to reassure Oikawa that he isn’t going to say something unpleasant. “It’s nothing bad,” Curse him for being so good at reading Oikawa’s different changes in mood. “It’s just, we’re getting pretty deep into university and well, we haven’t seen the old team in a while-”

Oikawa lets out a breath. “You want to go visit?”

Iwaizumi kicks at a small pile of leaves, his breathing a little airy. “Yeah, yeah. That would be good.”

There’s a silence as Oikawa smiles wide and nods. “Oh. I’d like that.” He buries his nose into his scarf, nuzzling his nose into the fabric as a cold gust of wind sweeps around the two.

Iwaizumi’s smile is like the stars. It’s a bit scattered and uncertain, but the look of relief in his eyes makes up for it. “Are you okay?” He asks, tentative.

Oikawa instinctively rubs at his arms and breathes through his nose. “Yeah, I-” He pauses a little, thinking if he really is okay. Iwaizumi hasn’t found out about the new cutting incident, and he’s feeling a little better today so—

“Yeah, I am.”

When they get home, Oikawa heads straight to bed and pretends to be asleep when Iwaizumi calls him for milk bread and tea.

**

Oikawa knew it would have happened sooner or later, it was inevitable really, with Mei and how Oikawa just knew she was smitten.

He doesn’t have practice that day and he’s just lounging around and waiting for Iwaizumi to finish his late classes. He starts to call out when he sees the familiar spike of hair moving toward him, but then someone beats him to it. Mei nervously runs up and says something that Oikawa can’t hear from where he’s standing, blushing profusely with stuttering footsteps.

Something in Oikawa’s chest drops into his stomach.

Iwaizumi seems a little surprised—of course he is, he wouldn’t know love if it slapped his head upside—but nods his consent to whatever Mei said before scanning the dispel of students for Oikawa.

Oikawa doesn’t want him to see him—who knows what his face is like at the moment—but Iwaizumi catches his eye and waves before walking over. Mei trails a few feet behind him, blushing red to the roots of her nape. When she sees Oikawa, she smiles tentatively, a bit hopeful.

The best he can do is muffle his scowl.

Iwaizumi tells him that he’ll just be a minute before nodding at Mei and following her away.

There’s a roaring in the back of his head, growing progressively louder as he watches the two disappear behind the shadow of the building.

There’s an apprehensive churning in the back of his head. Another small part of him tries to reassure him that _no, Iwaizumi wouldn’t say yes, he promised remember?_ But when he recalls the memory, he realizes that Iwaizumi never _did_ promise.

That conversation had been almost a year ago, and you couldn’t exactly call Iwaizumi one to remember all the meticulous details.

He likes to think his legs move on their own accord as he stumbles toward the building and pushes his way to the nearest bathroom. There’s a piece of glass in his bag in the smallest pocket, one that keeps just in case. Oikawa expects himself to feel scared, maybe a little shaky—instead, he doesn’t feel anything at all.

He makes sure he washes the shard of glass, and laughs a little to himself. It’s ironic how he still cares about cleanliness when he’s doing this, and this time he doesn’t even feel the pain spiking at the newly opened wounds near his thighs.

**

When Iwaizumi bursts through the doors minutes later, Oikawa smiles and shakes his hands off of his shoulder, mouthing that he’s okay.

_“Iwa-chan, I just had to go to the bathroom.”_

Iwaizumi asks over and over again and checks his arms. He purses his lips and lets out a breathy chuckle, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. Implying he thought something had happened.

When they leave, Oikawa tries not to focus on how red Iwaizumi’s face is, and how his hair is slightly more disheveled than usual.

Instead, he spends the time home trying to ignore the stickiness between his thighs.

**

Sometimes, when Oikawa has been pushed past his limit, and he’s too tired to _be_ anymore—he says awful, awful things. It’s a habit he’s always had since he was little kid. The habit stayed, but the words have progressed, changed, fouled and soured over time to the point where they leave a bitter taste in Oikawa’s mouth.

He says it ruthlessly, cuts the person down, and what’s even worse is that what he says is true. He takes what he’s learned and uses it. He did it to Kageyama, and he’s done it to Iwaizumi too.

Maybe its karma, how he’s ended up where he is now. He wonders a bit if Kageyama felt this way too, before, when he couldn’t beat Oikawa, back when he was a worser person.

This time, when he has another tantrum—there’s something different from previous times. Before, Iwaizumi always came back. Before, he always yelled back. Before, he never closed his eyes and exhaled softly like he had a headache. Before, he never left for more than an hour—at least not until he was back with a bag full of milkbread and an apology that came the minute Oikawa opened the door.

Oikawa waits at home, hands shaking and trying to refrain from calling his best friend—if they’re even still that. He huddles in his bed underneath the blankets, even though it isn’t that cold. He has a headache by the end of the second hour, and by the third he’s in the bathroom, sobbing as he tries to poorly bandage the cut that’s jagged and stinging from a trembling hand.

 _You deserve it._ He thinks when he goes to lay down, strangely empty and dried of all his tears. He stares outside at the darkening sky, _you deserve it,_ running over and over again in his head.

He falls asleep late, exhausted from waiting—and tries not to break down again when Iwaizumi still hasn’t come back in the morning.

**

Oikawa is sitting at their coffee table, head buried in his arms as he tries to dull his pounding headache. There’s a cup of coffee sitting next to him, and he tries to refrain from checking his phone every few minutes. When he looks at the notifications a few minutes later, the screen is still empty.

When he tries to pick up the mug, it thuds onto the table and tips over, spilling the contents over the edge and darkening a patch on the rug. He realizes his hands are shaking horrendously fast and grips the table to still his fingers. For a minute, his eyes are glued on the caramel liquid dripping over the table edge and all he can do is breathe.

_Tooru, breathe._

He tells himself.

He can’t.

The harder he tries, the more his throat clogs until it hurts to swallow and there are tears curving the contour of his cheeks.

He tries for another minute before he grabs his phone and presses speed-dial. His heart is thudding sporadically in his chest, and part of Oikawa doesn’t want Iwaizumi to pick up. Because despite where he is right now, he still clings onto the last shreds of his pride. But the other side of him knows that if Iwaizumi weren’t to pick up, it would be worse than losing Iwaizumi altogether.

It’s the bottom line that Oikawa is terrified of being left behind and ignored.

The phone rings, and rings, and _rings_.

And it just keeps on ringing.

Then right when Oikawa is ready to sink to his knees and give up entirely, there’s a click as the line goes through—

And Oikawa lets it drop to the floor with a relieved sob.

“-Kawa? Oikawa!” Through the blur in his vision, Oikawa clutches onto the phone like it’s his lifeline as he tries to choke out an answer. The only thing he manages is a loud, ugly, heaving sound that sends him into a coughing fit and bending over as he slowly regains his composure.

“-re you okay? _Are you okay?_ ” Iwaizumi’s voice crackles through the receiver and Oikawa nods, knowing that he can’t see. He hears a _shit_ in the background, followed by a vague _sorry, I need to go._

When he attempts breathing, it comes jagged and stilted, but this time it doesn’t feel like his throat is filled with cotton balls. “Yes, I’m okay—Iwa-chan-” It’s as far as he gets before he’s swept over by another bout of coughing. “Iwa-chan I-” He manages before he’s back to blubbering like a fool. “Iwa-chan I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry Iwa-chan I’m sorry-” Then he’s crying again.

“Shit-I’m coming back. Stay where you are-fuck-” There’s a brief moment where Iwaizumi crashes into something and sends it toppling over before Oikawa hears a door opening and the screeching of tires against the street.

“Fuck-I’m coming.” Iwaizumi stutters out again. “Give me 5 minutes I’ll be there.” Before Oikawa can stop him, the line goes dead, and he’s alone listening to the thundering in his head.

It feels like much more than five minutes until Iwaizumi is through the door and dashing over to a hysterical Oikawa that’s shaking on the floor. His tears have stopped, but his hands are cold, and he can’t stop trembling even after Iwaizumi has hauled him up and tucked him onto the couch as he tries to calm Oikawa’s hysterics down.

Oikawa is numb all over when he finally stops hiccupping, and his face feels stretched and dried when his cheeks finally dry. It hurts when he moves his mouth and when he looks outside again, the sky is already dark. Iwaizumi comes out of the kitchen, a cup of tea in his hand before he sits down next to him, making the mattress sink down with his weight. Neither of them try to initiate a conversation.

When Oikawa is sure he won’t drop the mug, he feebly wraps his hand around it and closes his face over the lid. That’s when Iwaizumi starts to talk.

“I-I went into town, and saw this old friend of mine.”

Oikawa doesn’t look up, just breaths in the scent of chamomile while he wonders who this friend was. He never paid much attention to any of the other friends Iwaizumi had.

“And we talked for a while. And somewhere along the way you came up.” Oikawa sucks in another breath, whatever is coming next—he doesn’t want to hear it.

“He was talking about how he had a friend who was in depression and well, they found this real nice therapist. They said that they helped a lot. And I-I thought maybe, if you wanted.”

Oikawa is quiet and he still hasn’t looked up. Iwaizumi waits though, and after a long, awkward silence Oikawa starts to feel suffocated from all the steam and comes up for air. “I don’t want a therapist.” He says softly, his voice is scratchy and small.

Iwaizumi rakes a hand through his hair, as if giving Oikawa leeway to change his mind before he consents. “Okay, I understand. I just wanted to make sure,” He swallows, nervous, “make sure whether or not you were okay.”

Oikawa narrows his eyes, gaze flickering over to the muddy coffee stain on the rug that has already dried.

Iwaizumi is quick to back up his statement. “It’s just, you’ve been doing pretty well lately,” _No I haven’t._ Oikawa thinks bitterly, his heart scrunching a little in his chest. “But then you’ve been having these panic attacks and I don’t know what to do.” His face wrinkles as he narrows his eyes in frustration. “And I Just-I,” Iwaizumi exhales heavily before shaking his head. “Never mind.” He says quickly when Oikawa stares at him.

Oikawa can’t help it; he starts asking questions. “What? What do you mean? What were you going to say?” He rambles them off, feeling the desperate edge in his tone of voice spiking before Iwaizumi cuts him off.

“I just, I just want you to be happy.” Iwaizumi breathes, he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “You,” Oikawa’s chest swells a bit when his best friend bites his lip, mulling over his choice of words. “You work so hard and you get the most difficulty. I feel like that always happens to you, and you don’t deserve all that shit.” Oikawa is so, so sure that Iwaizumi is blushing, despite how dark his skin is, and maybe Oikawa is too because suddenly his hands are starting to burn up instead of feeling so clammy.

Then the both of them can’t look each other in the eye. Oikawa finds himself with a reflection of his dopey smile staring back at him in the shadow of his tea. When he gathers the courage to look back over, Iwaizumi has his mouth covered with his hand, elbow propped on the couch arm. And _yes, oh please yes_ that is most certainly a blush.

When the two finally see eye to eye again, it’s comfortable. None of the hesitance, nothing from the past few hours hindering the two.

“I’m sorry.” Oikawa says again. This time, it comes out fluid.

Iwaizumi is silent for a moment before relief floods his eyes and he tilts back, barking out a laugh that swells Oikawa’s heart. “Are you okay?” He asks teasingly, his smile carves a dimple in his right cheek as his eyes wrinkle at the edges.

Oikawa smiles—and for once, it feels _right_ —before the two dissolve into laughter.

**

The following days are slow. Oikawa struggles with his conscience, trying to block it out. And he learns that it isn’t that your conscience stops speaking to you, you just get better at ignoring the guilt when you succumb to the dark again.

He spends the days doing his homework, going to volleyball practice, shivering in his bed—wishing that Iwaizumi would notice his silent tears and come in to help him—pillow damp and the table lamp on.

Iwaizumi helps him though, and he thinks that he could do it, he could get through this as long as he has his best friend by his side. Their first game is coming soon, and Oikawa thinks that his team has a good grip on winning. Still, he doesn’t feel such a strong connection with his new teammates as he did with the others at Aoba Johsai.

He misses them.

Iwaizumi seems to miss them too, because a few days later, he asks whether or not Oikawa is free anytime the next week. Oikawa catches himself thinking that Iwaizumi might actually be asking him out on a date, and the little bubble of hope blows up wide, before it pops and leaves a trail of soapy suds after it. He explains that both Hanamaki and Matsukawa are on break next week, and they have some time to come over.

Oikawa agrees, of course he does. He’s more homesick than he’d like to admit, but Iwaizumi knows him well enough to see through his façade.

He tells himself he’ll go shopping for something to wear tomorrow, even goes to the extent of making sure that he can drag Iwaizumi along. But when tomorrow comes, he can’t bring himself to look forward to it. Iwaizumi seems confused when Oikawa tells him that he doesn’t have the energy and he’ll go the day after that, but doesn’t say anything or question him. It doesn’t seem like Iwaizumi cared much, but later, Oikawa finds a pack of milk bread sitting on the counter.

It turns worse when Oikawa can’t even get out of bed the next day. Instead, he shivers under the blankets and stays holed up in his room for a good few hours until it’s far past noon and the Sun’s neared setting. Iwaizumi comes home from class and starts dinner before poking his head through Oikawa’s door to ask him when they’re going, but when he sees Oikawa lying prostrate on the bed, he chooses to close the door quietly and turn of the light. Oikawa knows because he was awake then, but he didn’t have any energy to greet the brunet.

When he finally musters the motivation to get up, his food is already cold and Iwaizumi is sitting on their couch watching _Chopped_ on the TV. He mutes the channel when he sees Oikawa and straightens. In return, Oikawa just shakes his head before taking the unoccupied space next to Iwaizumi, the couch dips as he sits down and in a moment of uncertainty, Oikawa wonders if he’s been putting on weight.

There’s a minute of silence while the TV screen flashes, the panels flickering to the timer and back to one of the chefs. There’s a heavy weight on the quiet, and Oikawa can tell that Iwaizumi has questions he wants to ask.

He bumps his hand on the couch elbow when Iwaizumi suddenly speaks up, soft but sudden enough to make Oikawa startle. “Hey.” The word’s insistent, but not to the point of urgency.

Tired, Oikawa turns his head and tilts his head in question. “Have you eaten anything?” Iwaizumi asks, not pressing. “You want me to heat something up for you?”

Oikawa realizes that yes, he is hungry, but then he remembers how that dip in the couch felt as he sat down and decides that he shouldn’t eat. His metabolism is already down today, and eating something now would only put on more calories. He shakes his head no, before testing his luck, and impulsively falls to the side so his head winds up in Iwaizumi’s lap. There isn’t much space on the couch in the first place, and neither of them are sitting too far away to begin with. It’s an easy target for Oikawa, and the look on Iwaizumi’s face almost makes him forget about how empty he feels at the moment.

“What the-Shittykawa-” Iwaizumi switches to default before cutting himself off when he sees the silent pleading look that Oikawa sends his way. Muttering under his breath, he tentatively sifts his hand through Oikawa’s hair, grimy from two days of negligence.

Oikawa stiffens for a bit, surprised. He turns so he’s looking up at Iwaizumi and smiles, his vision narrowing as his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Iwa-chan you big softie.” He croons before shifting to make himself comfortable. There’s a sharp pain that goes off between his thighs and he winces, Iwaizumi doesn’t seem to notice, he’s too busy trying to hide how red his face is.

“Say something like that again and you’ll find out just how _soft_ my fist is.” He raises his right fist to emphasize his point, but his free hand carding through Oikawa’s hair, soft and gentle as can be, speaks differently.

Oikawa laughs, “Iwa-chan, you’re so mean.” it’s weak, but it’s still the first laugh he’s had in days before he closes his eyes, the phosphenes from the screen flashing behind his eyes. There’s silence before Iwaizumi breaks it again.

“Are you feeling okay?”

Oikawa thinks. His thighs hurt, another scab has recently opened, he was bed-ridden for two days, he’s behind in classes, he feels another headache coming on—no, _I’m not okay._ Instead, he opens his eyes and stares into Iwaizumi’s, looking at how they flicker and change color with the moving images reflected from the television. _Green, blue, dark green, black, brown, lighter brown, green._ He runs over the colors in his head until Iwaizumi gets the vibe that he doesn’t want to talk about it.

Oikawa falls asleep there, warm and content for the moment.

When he wakes up, the clock reads twenty-four past three in the morning, and there’s a blanket wrapped around his figure where he lies on the couch. Iwaizumi is gone.

**

Surprisingly, everything works out. Matsukawa finds that he can’t visit, his mother had recently gotten sick. Hanamaki decided to call it quits when he found out that Matsukawa wouldn’t be around, but they promised that they’d come visit the two as possible.

Oikawa wonders if Iwaizumi had pulled any strings in order to make sure that Oikawa would be feeling better when they came, but decides that he shouldn’t overthink. He read some article the other day that people who constantly overthought everything had a bigger chance of contracting a mental issue.

Spring is nearing, and the snow’s starting to melt into tiny little streams that make the black pavement impossibly darker. This is how he finds himself standing outside, waiting for Iwaizumi to finish a lab that he needed to stay overtime for. He toes at the clear water trickling past him and dipping into the gutter, making a soft rushing sound as it goes.

The doors swing open and Oikawa looks up, ready to leave before—

_Mei._

Oikawa hasn’t seen her in months, but almost immediately, he realizes that she seems taller. Her hairs grown out and now she actually isn’t a stuttering mess when Iwaizumi pulls up behind her and hands her a handful of papers.

The scowl on his face is there by default. Mei catches sight of him and her eyes widen in recognition. “Hey!” She waves, bubbly and eager. “Oikawa right? I haven’t seen you in a while.” She walks over, confident, nothing like the timid girl he seen before.

Iwaizumi follows her and steps over to Oikawa’s side, hands in his pockets, nonchalant as Mei starts to chatter to the brunet about god knows what. She smiles at Oikawa, all pretty and nice and Oikawa has _never_ hated anyone more.

With Kageyama it was different, with Ushijima it was different, but this kind of hate his horrible and makes his head feel heavy. He’s suddenly very, very tired, and Iwaizumi must notice because he taps Oikawa on the shoulder, telling him that they should go as he waves goodbye to Mei. Oikawa’s smile feels more like a scowl as he trails back home.

The words remain left unsaid, weighing heavy on his tongue. _Is she your girlfriend? Iwa-chan is Mei your girlfriend?_ And then stupidly; _Iwa-chan you promised you wouldn’t._ Even though Oikawa knows it’s almost been a year and a half for Iwaizumi to change his mind, even though Iwaizumi never actually promised in the first place.

Iwaizumi clips his shoulder and Oikawa flinches, and he feels guilty even though he shouldn’t.

“Are you okay?” And by now Oikawa has been asked that so many times his answer is default.

 _No. I am not okay._ “Yeah Iwa-chan, why wouldn’t I be?”

**

Three days. That’s how long Oikawa needs to wait until Hanamaki and Matsukawa come to visit. Oikawa still feels like shit, but he drags himself up every day and tries to put on a nice smile to get through the long tedious hours. Iwaizumi is a lot more bustly than usual, asking Oikawa which restaurants he thinks are nice, what they should do and Oikawa entertains him, gives him suggestions but remains quiet for the most part.

Iwaizumi even starts fussing about whether or not he should wear something nice and Oikawa can’t handle it, he bursts out laughing and doesn’t stop for a good five minutes because how _ironic,_ it’s usually Oikawa doing all the worrying.

Iwaizumi is scowling when he finishes, telling him to shut up and he should take a look at himself but Oikawa doesn’t miss the small smile on his face when he thinks that he’s looking away. For a second, Oikawa hopes, and thinks maybe, just maybe—

But then he remembers Mei, all bright, cheery smiles and the light feeling in his chest plummets and his good mood is gone.

Iwaizumi moves to the other room to make reservations, and Oikawa escapes to his room, locking the door even though it’s only just turned 7.

**

He’s bleeding again, and they’re leaving in 10 minutes. Oikawa is in the bathroom, furiously trying to bandage the cut leaking at his thigh, Iwaizumi pounding at the door saying _Shittykawa we need to_ go. And Oikawa’s so frustrated right now he starts shaking. “ _Okay!_ ” He yells, too exasperated to care that it sounds nothing like him. His voice is ragged and the blood is bleeding through the fabric and what is he going to _do_.

The pounding stops and for a second all he can hear is panting, his own sporadic breathing.

“Oikawa, are you okay?” Iwaizumi gently taps on the door after an awkward pause.

“I’m fine.” Oikawa grits out.

“Are you sure? Because we can cancel again, I mean-”

“I said I’m _fucking_ fine!” Oikawa all nearly shrieks and Iwaizumi cuts off so abruptly that Oikawa’s stomach drops. Finally, he tapes the bandage together, albeit sloppily, but he doesn’t want to cause any more of scene. He’s done a poor job, but it’ll have to suffice for now.

When he opens the door, Iwaizumi wraps an arm around his head and pulls him so their foreheads are touching. “You sure you’re okay?” And curse himself, Iwaizumi’s eyes are so soft and worried, and the fingers tangled in his hair don’t help and all Oikawa wants to do is lean in and _kiss him_.

_Kiss him._

And then he remembers where he is and how shitty he feels and pulls back. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He breathes, even though he really isn’t.

**

They chose a nice restaurant, and when they see the two Seijou troublemakers, it’s around five minutes of nothing but hugging and crying (mostly Oikawa) and verbally biting at each other about clothing choice.

Oikawa is careful when he sits down, the chairs are actually a tan fabric that’ll probably stain if he’s not careful, but he hopes that it won’t come to that. Besides, Matsukawa and Hanamaki are too busy scuffing Iwaizumi up to care.

It’s nice, so nice to be back with everyone again.

For a few moments, Oikawa forgets about how sad he’s supposed to be and just enjoys himself. Hanamaki and Matsukawa haven’t changed at all, except they seem a lot more tactile—in a way. Slapping each other on the shoulders, leaning into each other subconsciously, and Oikawa finds himself smiling to himself softly when Mattsun’s gaze lingers on Hanamaki a bit too long to be glossed over. Of course, he’s probably the only one who’s noticed, because Iwaizumi and Hanamaki are now pushing all their food aside, creating a mess on the table as they start an arm wrestling match.

Oikawa laughs to himself, light and genuine for once, and Matsukawa taps him on the shoulder.

“How’s Iwaizumi?” He asks, eyes half-lidded, the edge of his mouth curling.

Oikawa blinks for a second, not understanding, “He’s fine-” he starts, but Matsukawa cuts him off with a sly wink and a suggestive eyebrow wiggle.

“No, I mean, how are you guys?”

Oh. _Oh. “_ Um, we’re good. I mean, we’re working things out and we’re both okay, I guess.” He knows everything he said was blatantly generic and pathetic, but delving deeper would cause too much trouble for him.

Matsukawa seems almost disappointed, saying a quiet okay before leaning back and returning his attention to the game. And it’s been so long since he’s talked to anyone he can trust that isn’t Iwaizumi that he’s tempted to tell him everything—how he has depression and he’s sad and cutting in secret and that he’s in love with someone he can’t have. But instead, he holds it back because it’s awful to tell someone these things, especially when they haven’t seen each other in so long and today is supposed to _happy_.

Finally, Iwaizumi wins, slamming Hanamaki’s hand down on the table with a triumphant thud. His face is red as he starts laughing, Hanamaki spewing out curses even though he’s cackling too. Matsukawa grabs the both of them and they start wrestling in the subtlest way they can, even though there are already plenty people staring at the commotion.

“Desserts on Makki!” Matsukawa crows before scrubbing Makki’s head furiously while he struggles to get out of his grip. Oikawa is content watching, but of course, all three of them have the same idea and grab him, pulling him into the circle—laughing in a way he hasn’t in a while.

In the middle of it, someone grazes his thigh, right over a cut and he flinches, hoping no one noticed. He pulls away, rubbing at his face in an effort to hide his panic. “I,” he sucks in a breath and Iwaizumi stops and stares at him.

“You okay?”

Oikawa breathes out a weak chuckle. Now everyone’s staring at him and he’s feeling painfully self-conscious, he must look like a mess. “I have go to the bathroom; you guys can order.” He says, praying they’ll listen. None of them seem convinced, so for good measure he adds. “You think my hair can survive that baboon scuffle?”

Matsukawa grins, sticking out his tongue. “Yeah sure princess, go fix your immaculate hair.”

He tries to smile back before shuffling off. He can almost feel Iwaizumi’s eyes glued to the back of him but he’ll be quick, he promises.

There’s no one in the bathroom, but just in case, he takes the farthest stall and takes a look at his thigh. It’s worse than he thought, there’s fresh blood, and a stain near the back of his left leg, visible if you look closely. “Shit.” He mutters, raking a hand through his hair. He grabs a handful of paper towels with one hand and wipes at it, ignoring how he might be making it worse. The paper stings at the open wound and he winces. “ _Shit_.” He needs to get back before Iwaizumi gets suspicious and comes after him, but if he doesn’t do anything it’ll stain even more and then he’s really in trouble.

“Fuck it.” He decides, pulling his dark jeans up and wiping his hand on the toilet paper. It’s dark outside, and they’ll be leaving soon, nobody’s going to notice.

He forgets to wash his hands on the way out.

**  
Somebody notices. Actually, Matsukawa notices. There are blood smears on his hands and the boys behind him when they’re leaving, so he must notice.

“Shit, Oikawa,” Matsukawa sidles up next to him and Oikawa’s stomach drops. “Did you fucking kill someone?”

Oikawa stiffens and almost freezes, but not quite. He keeps on walking, “Yeah, wait-no, fuck—I’m fine, I didn’t kill anyone.” He grits out.

Matsukawa blinks, incredulous. “There is blood. On your hand. Are you sure you’re okay?”

Oikawa is trying hard to blink back tears now, and it’s too dark for the other to notice. Then, in the rush of the moment, tries wiping his hand right over the pooling bloodstain on his thigh. Matsukawa follows, and then he’s gasping, eyes widening.

“Holy shit Oikawa, you’re bleeding.” Oikawa freezes then, he can’t help it and now Hanamaki and Iwaizumi are looking back, curious. “Holy fucking shit you’re wounded. Um, on your period, no, shit that’s not it-” Matsukawa rambles off and Oikawa is begging for him to shut up, to _please ignore this, don’t draw Iwa-chan’s attention_ but it’s already too late and he’s heading over.

“What happened?” He asks, his sight swivels to him and Oikawa starts shaking.

“I’m fine, I’m fine it’s okay. Don’t worry-” His voice cracks and he can’t finish the sentence.

Iwaizumi looks murderous. “Matsukawa what the fuck happened?”

Matsukawa shuffles back. “Shit man I don’t know, fuck, don’t look at me like that-” Hanamaki is next to him now, a hand over his shoulder—almost protective.

“Iwa-chan it’s okay, I’m okay.” But he’s cut off again.

“No you’re not fucking okay and nobody’s telling me what the fuck is going on!” _No, please no, not now please._ He prays to whoever is out there listening, whether it be a god or not, to please let this blow over, _please_.

“Iwaizumi, calm down-” Hanamaki attempts.

“I will _not_.” He seethes before grabbing at Oikawa’s hand, sharp and rough—tugging with unnecessary ferocity. “Oikawa we’re going home to find out what shit is wrong with you _again-_ ”

And he starts crying, fat, leaking tears that won’t stop and blur his vision. Iwaizumi pauses, and he must realize what he’s said now because through the haze he looks so, _so_ guilty.

“I-shit, I’m sorry. Oikawa-shit.” Oikawa pulls away because he knows that he means it, he’s always known.

Because Oikawa is pathetic and selfish and keeps things to himself and will always put himself first no matter what— _no matter what_.

Iwaizumi is stammering, looking stricken. Matsukawa won’t meet his eyes, and right now, the only one who is attempting to comfort him is Makki, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and squeezing as he waits for someone to say something.

Oikawa has stopped crying, and he just feels empty now. And all he can hear are the words that he’s been expecting ever since all this shit started. _“-what shit is wrong with you_ again _-_ ” He can’t un-hear it or un-see how angry his best friend was when he snapped.

Hanamaki pulls back before nudging at Matsukawa. “Mattsun, let’s go.” _No please don’t._ He doesn’t miss the look that the two direct towards Iwaizumi, silently telling him— _fix this._ Because it’s always been Iwaizumi who picked up after Oikawa’s messes, always Iwaizumi who puts up with his tantrums and panic attacks.

Hanamaki’s voice is painfully soft with sympathy as he pats his shoulder awkwardly. “We’ll see you guys again yeah? Take care of yourselves.” It’s obvious the last part is directed for him, and then the two are gone.

Oikawa is left with an impending silence and a stoic Iwaizumi. But he can hear the words over and over again in the quiet.

 _“-what shit is wrong with you_ again _-_ ”

His voice is strained when he starts talking again. “Come on, Iwa-chan let’s go home.” He says weakly.

Iwaizumi’s gaze is piercing. “Yeah, we’re going home.”

**

The ride back home is pensive, tension thick. When they get out of the cab, Iwaizumi slaps his hand when he tries to pay and doesn’t even bother to apologize after, even though it hurt. He’s only seen his friend this angry once before, and that time wasn’t about him.

The stairs up to their shared room are narrowing and winding and all he can hear are their footsteps padding up. When they reach their room, the first thing Iwaizumi does is close any open windows.

Oikawa braces himself, but the blow never comes. Iwaizumi shuffles to the kitchen and brings back a bunch of tissues and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. Oikawa’s heart seizes up in his chest and his breath quickens. “Iwa-chan no you don’t have to-”

He doesn’t look like he’s going to have any of that. Instead, he grabs Oikawa and pushes him down onto the couch. “Strip.” It’s the first word he’s said nearly in an hour, and it’s sharp and angry.

“No Iwa-chan please-” Oikawa starts trembling again, because he doesn’t want him to see how bad it is. How long it’s been going on and how ugly the scars are.

“Oikawa-just fucking-just fucking do it.” Oikawa starts to cry, but Iwaizumi doesn’t falter and just stares at him with an unreadable expression.

He hooks a hand under his belt and as slowly as he can, pulls it down until all his cuts are visible. The one that just opened lying out in the open. He starts sobbing—he must look horrible like this, he’s an ugly crier, and the scars are even uglier.

He hears rather than sees open the bottle before dabbing it in the paper.

“How long?”

Oikawa is a fucking mess. “A month.” He hiccups, it’s useless to start lying now. Iwaizumi wouldn’t believe him after all this. The first dab stings and he flinches, drawing his knee up and wincing. Iwaizumi waits as he lowers his leg back. His thigh is shaking uncontrollably before Iwaizumi grabs it and steadies it, his hand is cold, but Oikawa doesn’t startle.

“You-shit, why-” Iwaizumi’s voice is so full of bitter disappointment that it physically hurts him and he starts crying even harder. “Oikawa,” Iwaizumi’s voice cracks a little, and Oikawa realizes how horrible he’s been. He’s selfish, a liar, been wallowing in his own misery that he hasn’t even stopped to ask himself how he’s affecting the people around him. He opens his eyes, and Iwaizumi’s saying something he can’t comprehend and he just wonders;

_Why do you stay?_

Because it certainly isn’t for this. It certainly isn’t for all the pain and misfortune and misunderstanding, certainly isn’t for any of the shit that Oikawa deals out to anyone in close enough vicinity. Oikawa does not give, Oikawa only takes, Oikawa will always only ever be selfish.

Iwaizumi is shifting back now, and he stills frowning, but his eyes are gentle, hurt, trying to understand even after all of this, and Oikawa hates himself so much, so so much. _Don’t ruin this, don’t ruin this friendship please._

“Hey, hey,” Iwaizumi wraps his free arm around Oikawa’s neck gently and pulls him down towards him. He breathes and tips their foreheads together. “We’re gonna be okay, alright? You’ll be alright, I promise. Breathe, Tooru, breathe.”

Oikawa takes in a shuddering breath, a rattling exhale as he squeezes his eyes shut, thinking— _don’t call me that now, please._

Iwaizumi keeps on talking, low and continuous and Oikawa calms a little, only just a little. His eyes are warm, no longer as angry. He’s saying something about getting help, rambling on about something that Oikawa is too distraught to comprehend right now. Oikawa is shaking less frenetically and breathing less sporadically. His eyes flicker, quick, to Iwaizumi’s mouth and his breathing cuts off.

Oikawa wants to kiss him.

Oikawa _wants._

And right now, he doesn’t care anymore. He hates himself too much to think clearly at the moment.

“I love you.”

Iwaizumi stops talking. His eyes widen and then, only just then does Oikawa realize what he’s done.

 _No. Please no, just forget about this please please_ please. He starts crying again, even harder than before and pulls away frantically, pushing at Iwaizumi’s following hands.

 _Don’t look at me._ His hands cover his face by default and he forces his gaze away. _What have I done?_ Iwaizumi’s saying something, but the roaring in his ears drowns it out. There are hands, prying at his insistently, trying to pull them away from his face. Oikawa won’t let them.

“-kawa, Oikawa, hey. Look at me.” Oikawa’s sobbing uncontrollably by this point and he wishes he could be anywhere but here. Then; “Tooru, look at me, please.”

Oikawa flinches at the name, because he always gives in then. His hands are pulled away, and he’s already looking, despite how he’s screaming _no_ in his head. He can’t really see the blur of tears but there are two hands cupped around his face, pushing a stray curl back from the mess of his hair. Iwaizumi’s eyes are shining when Oikawa’s vision finally clears and his voice is dripping with affection when he starts talking again.

“God, you’ve always been an ugly crier.”

Oikawa’s heart stutters, because— _is this it? Is this what I think it is?_ He can’t say anything, just breathes in—holding it, and waits.

Iwaizumi rises up till they’re level with one another. “You idiot,” he whispers. Their noses are touching by now, and Oikawa doesn’t know what to do, just waits, hoping because maybe now he has a chance.

Iwaizumi leans forwards, and kisses him.

**

He’s been breathing underwater for so long now, he’s almost forgotten what it’s like to breathe air again. He can see the surface from here, and he’s tired, been tired, but he thinks that he can make it now.

He floats, suspended in the water, before he starts pulling himself towards the surface.

**

It feels like it’s been too long when they break. It feels like Oikawa’s waited too long for this, but he would wait again, if it meant this. He’s still crying, but it’s different now, he’s not fighting for breath, to best the panic.

Iwaizumi’s looking at him like he’s the entire universe, and Oikawa wonders how he missed it. “How long?” It’s the first words he’s said for a while, and his voice is hoarse and dry from misuse.

“Too long, ever since we were kids—I think,” Oikawa’s heart swells because Iwaizumi’s smiling, because he realizes—finally, this is all his. “I think that one time when you wouldn’t stop crying because the nurse gave you a pink Band-Aid and gave me a green one,” His hands are tangled in Oikawa’s hair, sweet, promising. “and you threw a fit because you wanted us to match.”

“Even then?” Oikawa breathes. Iwaizumi doesn’t need to say anything; his eyes tell him everything.

 _Even then._ The crinkle near his eye says.

He’s shaking a little, eyes squeezing shut and breathing, trying to let it all sink in.

Iwaizumi kisses both his eyelids, “Are you okay?”

Oikawa laughs then, giddy from joy, _Yes. I am okay._ “Yeah, yeah I’m okay.” Before he leans in again, and pulls Iwaizumi into a kiss.

**

Tooru doesn’t get better.

At least not immediately.

He finally gets help, giving in to his parent’s demands, and starts seeing a therapist. It’s hard, going once a week. Laying down everything, and he wants to give up a lot. Wants to give up most of the time, actually.

But Hajime is there, with soft words and a supporting leg whenever Tooru needs it, and his parents call frequently to check on him and make sure he’s alright. His sister and his nephew visit sometimes to see how he is, and neither of them mention his condition when they’re together. Hanamaki and Matsukawa, even the rest of the team are there to lend an ear whenever he needs it, and Tooru is so, _so_ grateful for what he’s been given.

And along the way, he learns.

He learns that sometimes, being selfish is okay.

He learns to love himself for who he is.

He learns that no matter how bad, no matter how hopeless it seems, it will get better.

And as time goes on—

Tooru heals.

Slowly and excruciatingly tedious, but also steady and sure.

It takes three years for Tooru’s scars to crust and bruise until they fade to his porcelain, yellow-tinted skin once again, and then another, long, drawn-out year for them to disappear completely.

But Hajime doesn’t leave once, and he’s always there. Even after he’s up a whole night from a panic attack, even when he can’t sleep because of another pounding headache. Even when Tooru wants to give up on himself.

He still asks if Tooru’s okay sometimes, and this time when he answers, it’s genuinely the truth.

And when he wakes up every morning, Hajime right beside him. All he can think that yes; he’s— _they’re_ okay again.

**Author's Note:**

> Did anyone notice that in the entire story, Hanamaki said like, one word. I don't know why that's so amusing to me, just thought I'd put it out there.
> 
> In addition, if you've read this far-thank you so much. I don't think anyone would want to read 13K words of depression and angst, but i'm one of those people who would, so...
> 
> Once again, I didn't mean to offend anyone with this story. I just wanted to do my friend some justice, thank you again for reading!
> 
> also, find me on [tumblr!!!](http://yazuminkelei.tumblr.com/)


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